


Old Ned and the Devil

by azure_iolite



Series: Crossdressed Lucifer Stories [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV), The Simpsons
Genre: AU, Angel Wings, Crack, Crossover, Devil, Homophobic Ned Flanders, Humor, I blame my husband, It's all his fault, M/M, Satan - Freeform, Satan Senses, Suburban Neighborhood, The Devil is attriactive, Undercover As Gay, Undercover as Married, but I really dance right up to the line with this, flirty Lucifer, not smut, signs - Freeform, silliness, unexpected neighbor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure_iolite/pseuds/azure_iolite
Summary: This story is my husband's fault. I am just the wordsmith for the madness that is his mind. Feel free to judge.Or not. Your call, really.Lucifer and Cain are undercover. Pretending to be married. Yep. I'm referring tothatepisode. You know the one.  But things take an unexpected turn when one Ned Flanders arrives, and Lucifer does what he does best.
Relationships: Lucifer Morningstar/Marcus Pierce, Lucifer Morningstar/Ned Flanders
Series: Crossdressed Lucifer Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791997
Comments: 13
Kudos: 75





	Old Ned and the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> 'Old Ned' is one of the many nicknames for the Devil. In the Tree House of Horrors episodes, Ned Flanders is often portrayed as the Devil, and there is a standing theory that he actually _is_ the Devil. I know. Right? So 'Old Ned' is referring to both Ned Flanders as the not-quite-saintly man he actually is, and the Devil (or Ned's more Devilish alter-ego).
> 
> I offer no explanation for how or why this is. Do yourself a favor when reading. Don't think. Just accept.
> 
> Special thanks to Hircine_Taoist for the excellent Beta. ❤️

The doorbell rang and Lucifer pranced toward it with all the glee in the world. 

Playing at being a married couple with Cain had been far funner than he initially thought. He expected it to be an excellent opportunity to get into the man’s head, to figure out his softer, more vulnerable side, so he could end him and piss on Dear Old Dad’s parade. Ahhh, _lovely._ And the awkward uncomfortable sideways glances, the fidgeting, that was a delightful cherry on top.

“Honey! Someone’s at the door!” he sang out. A noncommittal grunt greeted him as he heard his ‘husband’ reluctantly clamber to his feet.

He put on his sweetest, most innocent expression, giving himself a quick once over in the full length by the door. Then, satisfied with the image of suburban perfection that he was, he opened it to the smiling face of his new neighbor. 

“Howdy-doodily, neighborino!” a man who would make Beaver Cleaver envious greeted through a thick, brown mustache. “Just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!”

“Who is it, Luke?” Cain wondered as he approached.

“Ned Flanders, and it’s a genuine pleasure to meet you.” The man halted abruptly in his greetings as he glanced between the two, his eyes narrowing momentarily before widening. He looked downward at the—it smelled like a casserole—in his arms, before meeting Lucifer’s eyes and plastering a polite smile on his face.

“Lovely to meet you as well, darling!” Lucifer purred, eyeballing the dish. 

“You two aren’t... uh...” the dullard’s face flushed as he toed the ground.

“An item? Partners in every sense of the word? Lovers? Intimate? Involved? Bumping blasphemies? Being cast into Hell, but in a good way? Nailing each other like Christ?” Lucifer smirked delightedly when the man—Flanders’ face paled, and Cain’s turned beat red.

“I think he gets it, Luke.” The lieutenant elbowed him none-too-discreetly.

“I would certainly hope so. That is what married couples do, after all.” The Devil squeezed the first murderer’s taut rump playfully.

Their neighbor took an uncomfortable step back, while Cain let out a muffled yelp, pulling away, and shooting Lucifer a brief, barely contained glare. 

“I... ah... see.” Flanders held up the dish awkwardly. “I prepared this by way of welcoming you.”

“Ooh! Lovely!” Lucifer eagerly snatched it up. He couldn’t help noticing the silly sod’s hand recoil ever so slightly. “Do come in, let us return the hospitality!”

Their new neighbor shook his head emphatically. “I just realized I have something I need to do, actually.” He rushed to say.

“Bloody shame, that.” Lucifer huffed dramatically as he handed the meal to the reluctant lieutenant. 

“But we understand.” Cain cut in, as his free arm tried to pull Lucifer back from the doorway.

“I’ll be praying for you!” Ned Flanders declared as he backed up.

“Good luck with that. The bloody Arse isn’t really in the habit of listening.” Lucifer informed as the door closed on his face by the irritated—and very embarrassed—Cain.

***

When doing undercover work, it’s important to be seen. 

So when Lucifer learned about a quaint little Bistro frequented by all their suspects—read neighbors—just around the corner from their little suburban slice of paradise, he wasted no time in dragging Cain along for a proper brunch out.

As is appropriate for this sort of thing, he selected a cozy table for two by the front door, making a point to wave and smile at everyone who took even a mild interest in the new couple on the block. His companion just sat there, sipping at coffee he refused to admit was actually quite exquisite, and scowling.

“This is an utter and complete waste of time.” Cain grumbled, leaning in so he wouldn’t be heard by anyone else.

Leaning in as well and smiling playfully, Lucifer took his hand as he breathed softly back. “Indulging in fine cuisine is never a waste of time, darling.”

The lieutenant didn’t back down, and when he spoke, Lucifer could nearly taste the coffee on his breath. “We’re not on vacation, Lucifer. The only reason we’re playing house is because someone was murdered.”

“Come now, since when has murder ever bothered...”

A shadow fell upon them, disrupting the discussion. Turning, they were greeted by the visage of one Ned Flanders, wearing roller skates and a helmet. The glasses on his brow pinched inward under the secure strap, almost concealing the stern expression he wore.

“Him again?” Cain groaned, turning away and burying his face in his hands.

As he did so, the zealot held up a sign.

_‘My Satan Sense is tingling.’_

Lucifer beamed. 

He eyed the man up and down, making no effort to hide that he liked what he saw. Under that heinous green sweater—which did the man no favors—he could make out a cut figure, just begging to be unveiled. Waggling his eyebrows and licking his upper lip, he nodded. Flanders stiffened, eyes growing wide, but Lucifer wasn’t done. Grinning, he pointed at him, mouthing the word, ‘you,’ next, he turned his finger upon himself, mouthing, ‘me.’ Then he gave two thumbs up as he nodded his affirmation.

“What are you doing?” His temporary partner demanded, mouth hanging open.

“The man is clearly flirting,” the Devil retorted.

The two turned their attention back to the roller skate wearing Flanders, just in time to see him snap out of a stupefied daze, at which point he proceeded to flip through a series of signs, no doubt meant to lead them back to the light. 

_‘Bring Jesus into your life.’  
‘The glory of God will guide you.’  
‘Christ is watching.’  
‘The true-diddily-duth is out there!’  
‘Toodily-Doo!’_

This last sign featured a waving hand, drawn and colored in with crayons.

It was Lucifer’s turn to groan. The visual of Christ watching him like a pervy stalker ex-girlfriend having leapt into his mind unbidden. As he rubbed his temples, the sign wielding religious nut quickly skated off, his hasty retreat accompanied by Cain’s laughter.

“You know, I think he might be growing on me.” 

***

“The casserole was positively delectable.” the Devil in disguise lavished as he handed the immaculately cleaned dish back to his suspect/neighbor. Cain suggested he use the visit as an opening to investigate the man, seeing as his alarmingly squeaky clean habits seemed a little too perfect to be believed. 

Flanders blushed under the praise. “Oh, ah, well thank you kindly. It’s an old recipe.” He took the dish and looked it over fondly. “I can get it for you, if you’d like.” He smiled politely through his positively rideable mustache, and Lucifer perked up, delighted.

“Splendid!” He clapped his hand together.

“Okily-dokily! Just wait here, I’ll be right back.” The man went back into his home, and after a brief pause, Lucifer followed.

He was struck by how tidy everything was. He’d seen the man with two curly-headed spawn from time to time. If the Detective, with her single offspring was any indication, this was no easy task. Lucifer still had no idea why anyone would willingly put themselves through that. 

He poked around a bit, finding a bible, three crosses, an inaccurate painting of Jesus, and a selection of bible study magazines for the whelps. Poor little sods. Lucifer felt sorry for them, though also relieved at their absence. He found Flanders thumbing through an old book in the study, by a bookshelf filled with far too many religiously themed titles. 

“You’ve a lovely home, very clean in spite of the rugrats. I’ve no idea how you manage,” he complimented, startling the man.

“Luke!” he exclaimed, taken aback. “I... uh,”—he pulled the book to his chest and took a step back—“didn’t hear you come in, good buddy.”

Lucifer grinned. “Yet here I am.” He stepped into the other man’s space, noting with mild amusement that the lout eyed the doorway like he wanted to bolt. This prig was so uptight and prudish, he made the Detective look like a wild child. All those pent up desires were likely to send him off his trolly. But fortunately for him, Lucifer knew exactly how to fix that. 

“Where’re the urchins, I wonder?” On a hunch, he slowly reached up to his collar, characteristically unbuttoned at the top, and eyes locked onto Ned Flanders the entire time, he languidly buttoned up the last two. 

The man’s breath hitched as his eyes locked onto the buttons. “Bible camp,” he croaked raggedly. He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain composure. “They’ll be back in the morning. Reverend Lovejoy agreed to bring them home.”

“How delightful,” Lucifer purred, raking his eyes over the man, imagining all the ways he would love to ‘investigate’ him.

Tragically, Flanders came to his senses, and with a quick head shake, he opened the book, throwing a hundred and ten percent of himself into finding the recipe and the tension dissipated. Lucifer huffed. After a pause, Ned’s finger landed on the sought-after section, then he went to fetch pen and paper. “You familiar at all with the Holy Bible, neighborino?” 

Lucifer chuckled. He loved this game. “I’m quite familiar, yes.” 

Flanders’ eyebrow raised, not having expected this response.

“So you know what the Good Book has to say about...”

“I’m not gay,” Lucifer preemptively corrected, sitting down and making himself at home. The other man gaped at him. “I’m not _nearly_ that picky.” His grin stretched as the other pulled back. “Why settle for one, when you can have all 32 flavors?”

The color on his neighbor’s face was positively delightful. Flanders sputtered before turning his attention to copying down the recipe, but Lucifer knew he wouldn’t leave the subject at that. After a moment of carefully considering his words, the devout dunce finally looked at him. “Have you ever thought about maybe just swearing off men? After all...”

“Leviticus 20:13. ‘If a man lies with a male as with a woman, they have both committed an abomination,’ blah blah blah. I assure you, I typically do get stoned after. And during. And before, if I can help it.” 

Flanders eyed him suspiciously. “It actually says...” the man sighed in frustration as he warred internally with his polite sensibilities and an impulse to spread the ‘good word.’

Lucifer leaned forward. “What about the bit about wearing multiple fabrics? I can see at least two on your lovely person right now.” He allowed his gaze to drift downward, “And I’m willing to bet there’s a third one to be found if I were to”—his eyes locked onto the man, who was standing straight as a rail—“explore further.”

Flanders swallowed. Then he wiped his brow and tugged on the collar of his tasteless green sweater. And Lucifer knew he had him. Locking his gaze, he stood and took a step closer. 

“Not every rule in that overrated book must needs be followed.” His voice dipped. “And I suspect a part of you may be tired of...” he took the man’s hand, “following rules?”

“I... uh...” Flanders took an involuntary step forward, the recipe having been forgotten.

“Confess,” Lucifer stroked his hand, “what sinful fantasies have you been hiding from? What naughty little urges have you denied yourself? What is it you truly desire?”

***

Ned Flanders woke to the light of morning, squinting, and turned away. He felt he’d hardly slept at all last night. Confused, he sat up and fumbled for his glasses. There must’ve been herbs in the tea he shared with Luke yesterday evening. It wasn’t called the Devil’s Lettuce for nothing. Shrugging, he decided he would have a talk with the man about boundaries. 

With a yawn, he caught the scent of breakfast making its way through the house, and the most unexpected memory, or dream—or hallucination, perhaps?—assaulted his brain. Ned slid out of bed, shuddering at the implications as he searched for his robe, vowing to have a heartfelt talk about this with Reverend Lovejoy. When he couldn’t find it, he decided wearing his pajamas would be okily-dokily, and with that, he exited his room.

As he made his way to the kitchen, his confusion grew. Who was making breakfast? Surely not Luke. No. Ned closed his eyes tightly, banishing the impossibilities haunting him by sheer force of will. It was probably just the Good Reverend deciding to stick around for a lively chat about faith, which was something Ned was desperino for at this point. Approaching the kitchen, he saw Rod and Todd sitting at the dining room table, working through their breakfasts.

His boys looked up at him and smiled brightly. “Good morning,” Rod greeted happily before turning back to a positively blasphemous breakfast of waffles, whipped cream, strawberries, and blueberries.

“Did you sleep well, Daddy?” Todd asked politely. He followed this up by shoving a bite of mostly whipped cream into his mouth.

“Why, thank you for asking. Unfortunately no, I had the most...” _Sinfully delightful,_ “er... unusual dreams.” Or hallucinations. He still wasn’t sure which. “But how about you, boys? Having a good morning?” He adjusted his glasses as he stepped into the kitchen, and his eyes landed on Luke, standing by the stove, wearing Ned’s robe—and nothing else from the looks of it—as bacon sizzled enticingly on the skillet.

What? No! It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be! Because if it was, he was done for! 

Done-diddly-done for! Done-diddiliy-doodily-dawdily-done for! He was...

“We learned a lot about the Bible!” Todd chirruped after swallowing, and Ned snapped himself out of the growing panic. Perhaps this morning wasn’t a complete disaster after all?

“Oh wonderful. I’m so happy to hear that,” he praised, quickly pushing the conflicting feelings aside. 

“We worship Satan now!” His boys chorused as one. And something inside Ned Flanders broke. A voice in the back of his mind screamed. Then his far-too-tempting neighborino twirled around, flashing a merry smile. The morning light on his features made him look positively divine.

“Ah, Neddy! You don’t mind if I call you that, right? You certainly didn’t last night.” At the mention of this, a very vivid memory—Oh Heavenly Father, it wasn’t a hallucination!?— found its way to the forefront of his mind.

_“Oh, Neddy, yes!” the titillating man moaned with pleasure as a glorious pair of shining, white, angelic wings unexpectedly erupted from his back._

“Tell me, what’s your poison for the morning?” ‘Luke’—if that was his real name—inquired as he popped a few strips of bacon onto a plate. “Waffles? Omelet? French toast?” Those all sounded yummerino. “Me dressed as a French maid?” A surge of desire pooled in his unmentionables.

And that’s when he knew: Old Ned was at it again. “They warned me Satan would be attractive.”


End file.
